


He Keeps Sinking

by MeMyselfandI2008



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Closeted Character, Cousin Incest, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Incest, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeMyselfandI2008/pseuds/MeMyselfandI2008
Summary: As he took a sip from the bottle, brain buzzing, he found his gaze wandering to his phone. He shouldn’t call Donald, he knew he shouldn’t. That was the last thing he should do in the situation he was in right now, but he wanted to see him. It had been so long, and the pictures he had on his phone just weren’t enough anymore.No matter how much it hurt, he needed someone to talk to, and there was no way in his drunken state he’d call someone other than that caring duck he fell in love with.Hands shaking, he picked up his phone and called Donald.
Relationships: Daisy Duck/Donald Duck, Donald Duck/Gladstone Gander
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	He Keeps Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the part two of my “It was Always You,” fanfic I wrote!
> 
> I just want to thank everyone who commented! It means a lot to me that you all enjoyed my work so much, and I hope to make more content you enjoy in the future.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading!

A shiver crawled up Gladstone’s spine as the cold water met his face. He had debated for at least half an hour on if he should go outside today. He tried to use seeing Donald as motivation, but even that was a struggle to latch onto.

He could just call him instead of showering, changing into nice clothes and going for a walk out in the sun. Normally, he _would_ just call him, but doing that felt... wrong.

It felt less sincere, less warm. He physically needed to see Donald, to hear his voice, touch his arms or shoulders—he _needed_ Donald.

Gladstone sighed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He gave himself a quick, reassuring smile before moving to turn on the shower. With his luck, he told himself, finding Donald would be easy.

+

Finding Donald was easy. Too easy.

Off in the distance, far from Gladstone’s reach, Donald was talking with a girl that the gander had never met before. The two were exchanging words he couldn’t hear. He wanted to call out to them, introduce himself to the mysterious girl by his cousin’s side, but the weight in his stomach kept him in place.  
  
Seeing Donald, he looked brighter, happier. The look he was giving her was one that felt so familiar, yet so foreign to Gladstone. It was a look Donald had given to him once before, but it was never that bright, _never that loving_.

He swallowed thickly, ears ringing, wanting to shout, gain Donald’s attention. Deep down, though, he knew the end result of intruding would upset his cousin, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Donald was much happier without him, no matter how much that hurt to think about, he had to accept it. Yes, the unlucky duck was better off without him.

Sighing, Gladstone turned and walked back in the direction of the hotel he was staying at, blinking back tears threatening to slip from his eyes.

+

It had been a little over a month since Gladstone had last spoken to Donald (twenty-seven missed calls, fifty unread messages stared him in the face any time he looked at his phone), and it had been absolute hell.

He had stopped going out, locked himself in the room, stopped showering, stopped eating, filled his body with expensive wine that just so happened to be delivered to his door.

As he took a sip from the bottle, brain buzzing, he found his gaze wandering to his phone. He shouldn’t call Donald, he knew he shouldn’t. That was the last thing he should do in the situation he was in right now, but he wanted to see him. It had been so long, and the pictures he had on his phone just weren’t enough anymore.

No matter how much it hurt, he needed someone to talk to, and there was no way in his drunken state he’d call someone other than that caring duck he fell in love with.

Hands shaking, he picked up his phone and called Donald.

_“Where have you been?”_

Gladstone tried not to wince at the harshness behind the words, “Hey, Donald, I...” he swallowed, fighting back a sob, “Could you come over?”

There was a pause, along with several muffled voices asking something Gladstone couldn’t make out. It was probably the triplets, with Donald’s luck.

 _“—just bring it back when you’re done!”_ Donald sighed, _“_ _Sorry, what was that?”_

Gladstone tried to speak, say something, “Come over...” he managed, the words cracking.

Another pause. Light shuffling, drawers closing, pen clicking.

_“Where are you?”_

The gander gave his address, trying to ignore the flutter in his heart at how concerned Donald sounded. Of course he was concerned. Gladstone hadn’t been answering his calls or texts.

_“I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”_

Just as quickly as he had picked up, the line went dead, leaving Gladstone with a pit in his stomach and a sob falling on deaf ears.

+

A light knock gained Gladstone’s attention. He sniffed, slowly pulling himself up off of the comfortable couch and shuffling to the door. He briefly debated on fixing, at the very least, his hair, but in the end, he was too tired to care. Besides, this wasn’t the first time Donald had seen him in such a horrible state.

As he walked up to the door, he stepped over a few bottles that he had discarded on the floor (he was going to throw them away, eventually). As the hallway lights hit his eyes, he couldn’t help but wince, blinking several times to adjust his vision.

“You look horrible.”

God, it felt so nice to hear that voice in front of him. Gladstone couldn’t help but smile, silently hoping that Donald couldn’t smell the alcohol on him, “Hey, Donnie,” his voice was unnaturally soft, quiet.

Donald stared at him with such concern that the gander almost didn’t see the pity behind those beautiful eyes, “You’re drunk,” his voice was stern, arms crossed.

“Not entirely,” Gladstone replied, a grin on his face.

It earned him an eye roll from the duck, “So,” he pushed passed Gladstone, flicking on the lights in the hotel room, wine bottles that were scattered about glistening in the new source of light, “Is this why you haven’t been answering my messages for two months?”

Gladstone could hear the destain in his voice as he shut the door. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, “Something like that, yeah...”

A long sigh was his only response.

“Look, Donnie,” the luckier of the two turned to face his cousin, tired eyes trying to mask his sadness, “I just, the reason I wanted to see you was because...” he trailed off, watching Donald gather the empty bottles laying about his apartment.

“Because...” Donald pressed, glancing at Gladstone as he dumped the bottles in a trash can.

“I...” he choked, breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell Donald he missed him.

Donald raises an eyebrow, gaze softening ever so slightly, “What?” he quietly asked.

That look on his face, gosh, that was the look he’d seen so many times before—soft, gentle, loving. All the thing’s that he had given to that girl, only _less_. Gladstone felt his body moving on it’s own, hands nervously fiddling with his robe as he asked the question that had granted him many sleepless nights, “What am I to you?” the words came out slow, almost like Gladstone hadn’t wanted to ask the question in the first place.

“You’re family.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he could feel his stomach twist, fear rising, “ _What_ am I to you?” he repeated, throat tight, waiting for something, anything.

Donald stared at him for several seconds, shifting his gaze to the side. Neither made a move to break the silence that settled over them like a dark, ominous cloud.

Gladstone felt sick, “Then why’d you kiss me?”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Donald gave his cousin a look that he couldn’t read, “Gladstone, we were kids, it was years ago.”

“So, it didn’t _mean_ anything?” he fought back a sob, “ _Nothing_?” his body felt heavy, stiff, “Not a _damn_ thing?”

Donald opened his mouth to reply, but Gladstone had cut him short by storming over to him and grabbing the front of his shirt.

“I _loved_ you— _I still do_!”

The kiss was rough, but still so soft. Familiar. Just like the night at the lake, only this time, Donald pulled away, eyes full of pity, it hurt to look at.

“We can’t...” he muttered.

And with that single utter of words, Gladstone watched the love of his life leave, only pausing in the doorway for a moment as the gander asked, “Do you regret it...”

Donald seemed to reflect very briefly on all that they had been through together, turning his head slightly, “You already know the answer to that.”

He was gone, and Gladstone was alone, left to drown.


End file.
